


Rest for You, Oh Weary Runner

by mynameisnotmac



Series: Hurtling through Time (Darling Please be Mine) [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Geralt needs a nap, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier is a good friend, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a little less gen, a lot more romance but its up to you, or whatever else you want to call him, so soft, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22056787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnotmac/pseuds/mynameisnotmac
Summary: two guys, chilling in the woods, zero feet apart cause Jaskier has no concept of personal space
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Hurtling through Time (Darling Please be Mine) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684915
Comments: 64
Kudos: 3231
Collections: Best Geralt, GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY, witcher





	Rest for You, Oh Weary Runner

**Author's Note:**

> I've had Jaskier for one day, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself. Enjoy this very soft thing I have created.

Jaskier is pulled from his sleep by a frustrated groan, giving a short, sleepy one of his own in response. “Was’wrng?” He mumbles, trying to sound alert and ready to move. His hand instinctively reaches for his throat. It’s been two weeks since all that messy business with the djinn and he’s still not entirely trusting in the longevity of Yennifer’s cure. But there’s no pain, and despite Geralt joking - he better be joking, if that’s even something the witcher knows how to do - that he should continue to rest his voice for at least the length of their next adventure, the only thing wrong with it currently is the horseness of sleep, from which he was so rudely awakened from. “Geralt,” he tries again, “Is everything okay? Is something out there?” His eyes flick to the woods around them.

The witcher in question is lying on his bedroll, looking up unblinking at the stars. “You’re fine Jaskier, go back to sleep.” He says gruffly. Everything he says is gruff in Jaskier’s opinion, but after a few gentler days following their stay with the mage, his traveling partner has reverted to being even more prickly than his usual self.

“Still having trouble sleeping then are we?” 

“I would have less trouble if you would be quiet.”

Jaskier props himself up on his elbow, “well someone woke up on the wrong side of the forest floor. Well, you didn’t wake up, that’s the problem I suppose. Hmmm, do you suppose-”

“JASKIER.” A nest of field mice scurries under the roots of a nearby tree at the Geralt’s growling. “Shut. Up.”

His vision adjusts slowly in the dark, and Jaskier can finally see beyond the glowing eyes that are glaring at him under furrowed brows. Geralt looks worn out. He always looks tired and generally fed up with the daily going about of life, but now even more so than usual. Giving up on getting any more sleep himself that night, Jaskier pushes himself up, going for his pack.

Geralt sighs, “What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night, I’m told humans need sleep.”

Jaskier continues to rummage in his bag, “Yes, but I’m never going to get any with all your grousing over there. And to think, you get upset with me for making noise.” Geralt responds with a low grumble that Jaskier chooses not to make out. Instead, he pulls out a small jar. “Aha! Found it.” He comes to sit at Geralt’s shoulder. “I picked this up in that town we rode through the other day. Well, you rode, I followed. Anyway, I have no idea if it’ll work on the likes of you, but humans often find it quite soothing, and at this point, I’ll try anything to get you back to a palatable level of grumpiness.” His fingers hesitate over the laces of Geralt’s shirt. “Don’t kill me alright? Just, try to relax for once.”

Geralt doesn’t say a word, just simply raises an eyebrow skeptically at the bard as he tugs back the collar of Geralt’s shirt. Jaskier cracks the seal on the jar and Geralt’s hit in the face with the strong scent of flowers. “Oh I see, lavender,” he says, finally understanding what he’s allowing himself to get into. He inhales again, nose scrunching ever so slightly. “And...vanilla?”

“Flowering Tonka.” Jaskier corrects, dipping his fingers into the oil. “And a hint of Almond.” Testing the waters, he runs a finger over Geralt’s collar bone, and then when his hand hasn’t been cut off, he begins rubbing it more firmly across his chest. “Although I’m surprised you guessed any of it at all, given your aversion to baths and smelling nice. This should be a nice change from that lovely onion perfume you always have about you.”

All he gets is a monotone hum in response to the jab, as the witcher closes his eyes. His head tilts to the side as Jaskier’s fingers work their way up and find a knot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Geralt’s body feels like coiled springs, wound so tight they might snap. Jaskier changes positions. “Lift your head?” He instructs. To his surprise, the witcher does as he’s asked. He cracks an eye and looks warily at Jaskier the whole time, but he does it. Jaskier settles Geralt’s head on his crossed legs. “This is a better angle,” he explains, rubbing more oil into his hands. Geralt doesn’t look like he believes him but allows himself to continue being handled. “I knew you were a softie under all that armor and caked-on...dirt, oh god I hope that’s dirt and not...monster bits.”

His expression doesn’t change at the teasing “I could still reach up and strangle you you know.” 

“Yeah, but you won’t.”

They continue in blessed silence for a few moments, Jaskier’s fingers running up and down his neck with seemingly expert ease. Even though Geralt has to admit it feels nice, there’s a tight nagging in his chest. “You, you don’t have to keep doing this. I don’t need to do this for me.” His voice is much softer than it was earlier that night.

Jaskier pauses at the base of his jaw, fingers lightly resting on the sharp line. “Would you like me to stop?” He works out Geralt’s non-committal grunt for the no that it is and resumes massaging, trying to work out even a little bit of tension. “What are friends for if not to run scented oils through the hair of their very sleepy and scary friends?”

Geralt’s hand comes up and smacks Jaskier in the face, halfheartedly trying to cover his mouth. “You’re ruining the effect with this.” He taps at where he thinks Jaskier’s lips are. 

Jaskier twitches under the touch. “Please wash your hands before touching my face. Unfortunately, I know exactly where they’ve been.” Which prompts Geralt to leave his hand there simply out of spite. “You did also save my life the other day,” Jaskier says, continuing with their prior topic, “So consider this payback of a sort.”

The bard’s words stir the unpleasant tightness in Geralt’s chest. His hand slides down, coming to rest on Jaskier’s wrist. “I’m the one who put your life in harm’s way.”

“Yeah, well maybe.” Jaskier concedes, “Maybe we were both a little at fault. But then you went to all that trouble to try and fix it, which I appreciate.”

“Jaskier,”

“Yes, Geralt?” 

“I, it’s possible that I was out of line, with what I said before, before the djinn”

Jaskier’s hands still again. “I’m sorry am I dreaming? Are you ill? Or did I just hear Geralt of Rivia apologize? And can I hear it again?”

“Jaskier…”

“Right, shutting up. I’ll take what I can get.”

Geralt lets his arm drop back by his side and Jaskier continues his work, moving up to his temples. He takes an amount of pride as he feels the coils unwind ever so slightly. Geralt’s brow relaxes and it’s one of the rare moments in which he’s not fixing someone with a scowl.  
“Actually feels pretty nice,” he mumbles, his head lolling against Jaskier’s thigh. “Can’t say anyone’s ever done this for me before.”

Jaskier chuckles, “Is that a thank you?” Geralt gives a hum that might serve as a yes. “Well, I’ll be sure to keep in mind that Geralt, The Great Grouse of Rivia, can be felled by a good neck massage.”

“There’s a dagger under my bedroll and I will stab you with it.” 

The threat has all the bite of a toothless cat to Jaskier. “Shut up and go to sleep.” 

And to Geralt’s surprise, he does.


End file.
